


We've Been Here Before

by elrhiarhodan



Series: The Wonder(ful) Years Verse [3]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Committed Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, wonder(ful) years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This timestamp is set in September 1983, the first month that Peter and Neal are living on the dorms at Harvard. Things aren’t going so well for our boys - they are still a little young and have a whole lot to learn about communication. But remember, it’s the Wonder(ful) Years ‘Verse, and we know how the story is going to end, so don’t fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We've Been Here Before

There were few times in his life that Neal could remember being this miserable: the days and weeks after his father was killed, when his mother said she was marrying Vincent Adler – and of course the nightmarish weeks when Adler was stalking him. The six months that Peter pretended he hated him was also on that list.

That one was sort of the worst of all – maybe because it was only a year ago – and maybe because Peter was doing it again. Sort of. He wasn’t being mean, or deliberately avoiding him, but he wasn’t the Peter Burke that he had loved and wanted for so long. He was cool and distant, he didn’t want to hang out together or even sit near him in the one class they shared. 

In the three weeks since they arrived in Cambridge, ready to start their lives together, Peter seemed to have all but forgotten that Neal even existed.

_Maybe going to Harvard was a mistake._

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It was late and Peter fumbled with his dorm room keys, juggling a pile of text books and notebooks. To his utter dismay, everything went crashing out of his arms, papers went flying everywhere. He stood there, cursing a blue streak, when Daniel Godwin – another freshman – poked his head out of his room.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Peter gave the guy a wry smile and bent down to pick the mess up. Daniel came to help, getting down on his knees and gathering up the strewn papers. “I’m not normally this clumsy.”

Daniel – Dan, as Peter remembered he liked to be called, smiled at him. “That’s okay – yesterday I dropped a whole box of laundry soap onto my clean clothes. Had to do everything all over again. My sister told me all about the ‘freshman fifteen’ but she didn’t ever mention the ‘freshman fumbles’.”

The both laughed. There was a ratty couch in the little lounge area that separated the dorm rooms. Peter sat down and tried to reorder his papers. Thought classes only started a little more than two weeks ago, there was already a quiz scheduled for his advanced calculus class. Dan plopped down next to him.

Dan asked, “Where are you from?” He had been a late arrival, missing most of the freshman meet ‘n greet events during Orientation week. 

“Westchester – New York. Little town called Brookville Falls. ‘Bout thirty minutes north of New York City. You?”

“Raleigh, North Carolina. Can’t you tell from the accent?” 

Peter grinned, “You southerners sound all alike to me, slow – like you’re half asleep or something.”

“And you Yankees talk way too fast. Always in a rush.”

They laughed, and it felt good. Peter hadn’t had a lot to laugh about the last few weeks – or anyone to laugh with. His eyes flicked over to his dorm room. Neal was in there, probably fast asleep. 

Or maybe not. 

On the first day of orientation, Neal had fallen in with a group of artsy types and had been spending almost every bit of his free time with them, exploring Cambridge and Boston. Peter had gone with them the first few times, but felt out of place when they started playing language games every meal. His French was barely conversational and no one spoke Latin other than Neal, who had made a half-hearted attempt to include him.

It was just easier to distance himself than feel like he was one step from humiliation. Peter didn’t care about Neal’s friends, but he did care about Neal and what Neal felt about him. He had always respected and admired Neal’s intelligence, going back as far as elementary school where they had first met; ironically, in an early learners French class. He never felt stupid around Neal, and he wasn’t an intellectual slouch himself – hell, he was at Harvard on a full academic scholarship. But these other kids – they were sharp as knives. Sophisticated, knowing, and he was certain that they were trying to make him seem stupid. 

So he stepped away, leaving Neal to do his thing. And as the days passed, he realized that he was losing Neal.

And he didn’t know how to get him back.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The dorm room walls were paper thin and Neal could hear Peter and the kid from across the hall laughing. They sounded so … happy. And through the tight bonds of his misery, Neal felt blistering anger. How dare they, how dare _Peter_ , who said he loved him and then just dumped him like a sack of dirty laundry.

Again.

Neal buried his face in his pillow, trying not to cry. He wanted to turn back the clock to June and July when they lazed away the days, to May when they walked the halls as friends again. Back to that glorious weekend when they reconciled, made love for the first time, when everything was so perfect.

He wanted Aunt Ellen’s common sense, Aunt Cathy’s understanding and warm arms. He wanted to be with people who loved him, and not alone in a single bed in an airless room listening to Peter get friendly with another boy.

He wanted to go home.

A harsh sob erupted, so terrible it hurt his chest. Something broke inside him and the tears he’d been holding back all night – or maybe for the last three weeks – burst forth. Neal didn’t wail, he didn’t make any noise, he just shook. It was like he had a horrible fever, a sickness he didn’t think he’d survive.

He took a deep gulp of air, trying to breathe through the tears. It didn’t work and he tried again and hated himself for being such a sobbing, sniveling mess.

“Neal?”

Caught up in his misery, Neal hadn’t heard Peter come into the room. He didn’t answer, maybe if he pretended he was asleep, Peter would leave him alone. Not that he wanted that – he wanted Peter to know he was wretched – he just didn’t want Peter to _know_.

“You okay?”

“Fine, just sleeping.” He made a big deal of hunkering down in his pillows. Peter didn’t answer and Neal stifled a sniffle, feeling all the more miserable.

Peter turned on the light and Neal tried to bury himself under the blankets, but Peter didn’t let him. He tried to fight the big, warm hand on his shoulder. 

“Go away.” There – that should do the trick. Except that Peter didn’t and Neal couldn’t stop crying.

“What’s the matter?”

“I told you, nothing. I was sleeping.”

“You’re crying.”

“Just a bad dream. Now leave me alone.” That last part came out too emphatically and even though he was wrapped in a sheet and blanket, he could feel the sudden coolness as Peter moved away.

“Okay.”

He tried not to hear the hurt in that single word. The light went off and Peter made a little noise as he changed into his pajamas, the covers rustled as he got into bed. Neal had never felt quite so lost. He couldn’t bear it anymore. He whispered, “What did I do?” _Why do you hate me again?_

There was no response and Neal guessed that Peter wasn’t interested in answering him. Grief turned to anger again and Neal flung back his covers. He couldn’t stay here – not for another moment. He fumbled around, finding his sneakers and a pair of jeans. His wallet was on the dresser and he didn’t care what he looked like.

“Where are you going?” 

“Out, away.”

“Don’t be an idiot. It’s after midnight.” They’d been cautioned about walking around the city, and Peter – such a fucking boy scout – took those warning too seriously.

“Why the hell do you care?” He opened the door.

Peter was quick, slamming it shut and pushing him back before he knew what was happening. “You’re not going out - not alone, not like this.”

Neal hissed, stupidly conscious of the other rooms, other sets of ears so close by, “Like I said, why do you care?”

“You’re behaving like a spoiled brat - ” Peter sounded furious and kept a punishing grip on his arm as he reached out to turn on the lights. Whatever he saw in Neal’s face, though, turned that anger to something else. “Neal - ” 

He pulled himself away - it was clear he wasn’t going to go anywhere tonight, but first thing tomorrow, he was going to see about pulling out of school and going home.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

He’d seen Neal upset before, most memorably the night he came looking for sanctuary. Nor could Peter forget the look on Neal’s face when he dumped him as a friend at the start of their senior year. But both times, Neal had been composed - maybe a little shell-shocked - but still not wrecked like this.

His face was blotchy, his eyes brilliant with tears where they weren’t bloodshot - hell - his eyelashes were stuck together, as if he’s been swimming. But it was more than the physical signs, there was such anguish that Peter hurt just looking at him . Whatever was bothering Neal was big. He reached out again, but Neal backed off - almost as if he were afraid.

“Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

Neal shook his head. “As if you don’t know.”

“You’re upset with _me_?” Peter was incredulous. Yeah, he’d been a little distant - but …

“I can’t keep going through this, you dumping me for no reason.” There was a thread of steel in Neal’s voice now. “If you don’t want to be my friend anymore, that’s fine - okay? But don’t then pretend you care.”

Peter felt like he’d been slapped. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You won’t talk to me, we don’t spend any time together anymore - you always have excuses not to hang out with me. We have just one class together and last week, you deliberately moved your seat to the other side of the room. Why?”

Peter’s mouth went bone dry. Yeah - he’d been pissed at Neal, who’d spent the entire class playing Sprouts with some Japanese kid. It didn’t matter that it was an introductory European literature class that neither of them could get out of and they knew the material better than the instructor. It was just seeing Neal smiling at that girl that set his gut roiling. It was better - or so it felt at the time - that he take himself to an empty seat on the opposite end of the auditorium. 

“And tonight - you didn’t show up. You couldn’t even tell me that you didn’t want to go anymore. I felt like …” Neal didn’t complete the sentence, his eyes flooded with tears again. And worse, he wouldn’t even look at Peter.

“Tonight? What about tonight? I was in the library, studying.” Peter didn’t have a clue what was so special about tonight, but he feared he just missed something terrible.

Neal pulled his wallet out and handed him a pair of …

“Shit, it was tonight?”

“Yeah - the Yankees at Fenway. I left you a note this morning - in your Advanced Calculus textbook. You take that everywhere.”

Peter went over to his desk and pulled out the book in question. “I don’t see any note.” Not that that was a defense. His dad had gotten them the tickets months ago - they’d been planning this since all summer long. And it completely flew out of his mind. He felt like crap.

Neal took the book from him and opened it to the day’s assignment - there was the note. “I waited for you at the T stop for an hour.”

“I’m sorry.” That sounded so lame.

“I don’t understand what’s happened. You act like you don’t even want to know me. What did I do?” The question was plaintive, heartbreaking. The next one stabbed him in the gut. “You haven’t touched me, kissed me - not once since we got here. Don’t you want me anymore?”

Peter sat down - otherwise he’d just collapse. “I want you so much that I think I’m going to go blind. But …” 

“But what?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me?”

“Huh? What? Why would you think that?”

It was Peter’s turn to be angry. “You spend all your time with everyone else - you’re never alone. You say we never spend any time together, well maybe I don’t want to compete for your attention. Maybe I’m, I’m … jealous.” There, he admitted it.

“Jealous?” Neal sounded flabbergasted. “Of who?”

“Your court - Tashiko and Hanna and Gyorgi and Francois - it’s like the fucking United Nations. All the goddamn time. Frankly, I’m surprised you noticed I wasn’t around.”

Neal’s mouth opened and closed, like a fish gasping for air. “I don’t care about those guys. You’re my best friend - you come before anyone else. All you had to do was tell me that they were pissing you off and I’d have told them to scram. No one’s more important to me than you. I love you, Peter.”

Something unknotted in his chest - a combination of fear, anger and grief. “I’ve been behaving like a total shit, haven’t I?”

“And then some.” Neal gave him a little smile. “It felt like you dumped me again, but this time, you hadn’t bothered to make an announcement - I was supposed to figure it out from what you weren’t saying.”

Peter wondered how long that bit of stupidity was going to haunt them. “I’m so damn sorry. I love you, too. I just saw you with those guys and thought that you wanted their company more than mine. I couldn’t keep up with your language games, and Hanna and that mad Hungarian were doing their best to make me look stupid. ”

“You? Stupid? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You’re the smartest guy I know - you could wipe the floors with those two. With all of them.”

Peter could help feeling a moment of crazy joy at Neal’s impassioned declaration. It was tinged with fear though. He had one more thing he had to admit, and it was probably going to make him look even more clueless than he already did. “I thought that you didn’t want to be gay anymore. That you’d rather be with a girl.”

Neal greeted Peter’s statement with a bright red flush and he wouldn’t meet his eyes. Maybe there was something to that? “Neal?”

“I thought the same thing about you. I saw you and that surfer chick during Orientation. She couldn’t stop touching your shoulders and your arms and you weren’t exactly brushing her off.”

Peter groaned. While he had no interest in that girl - or any girl, having her hang-ten all over him was a nice antidote to seeing Neal and his groupies. “We’ve been a pair of idiots, haven’t we?”

“You’ve been the bigger idiot, but yeah.”

Neal was right. He’d behaved like a total schmuck. “I am really, really sorry - about everything.” He swallowed, it was hard to get around the lump in my throat. “Will you forgive me? Again?”

Neal didn’t answer at first, and Peter’s heart sank. “I can’t go through this again - you have to talk to me. You can’t just shut me out because of some misperceived nobility.”

Peter blinked. _Misperceived nobility?_ Neal sounded like something out of Charles Dickens. 

“You have to promise - pinky swear and hope to die.” The illusion evaporated and Peter had to grin. 

He did stick out his little finger and hooked it around Neal’s, like they were kids again. “Pinky swear and hope to die if I ever do this to you again.”

They completed the ritual, and silly as it seemed, Peter felt a great rush of relief. “So - I’m forgiven?” 

Neal nodded and gave him a shy smile. “I am, too?”

He held out his hand and pulled Neal close. For the first time in almost a month, Peter held Neal in his arms. Neal muttered into his neck, “I thought we’d be fucking by now.” 

Peter stifled a shout of laughter. They had done everything but fuck that wonderful weekend before graduation, holding back because neither one of them felt ready. He had even called Neal jailbait. Once his parents were home, they really didn’t have a chance to _do_ anything - nothing more that some kisses and a rushed hand job late at night when Neal stayed over. They were waiting for college and the privacy of their dorm room. “I know - and I’m …”

“Don’t keep apologizing, it’s okay now.” Neal sat up and looked at him. “But I don’t think I’m ready for that tonight - maybe this weekend?”

Peter thought that was wise. He had had some experience with anal sex; he knew it wasn’t something he could just rush into. He wanted it to be perfect; after all the crap he just put Neal through, he deserved it. “Yeah - but I’m not sleeping alone tonight. Not anymore.”

Neal agreed and surprised both of them by yawning hard enough to hurt himself. “Ow.” 

Peter kissed his jaw, his cheek and finally his lips, trying to be gentle when all he wanted was to swallow Neal whole. “Let’s go to sleep, ‘kay?” He watched as Neal shed his sneakers and the pair of jeans he put on over his pajama bottoms, smiling to himself as the pants were carefully folded, the sneakers lined up against the wall, his wallet returned to the top of his bureau. Not yet seventeen and already a creature of habit. 

The light was turned off and Neal slipped under the covers Peter held out for him. He’d never slept-slept with another person and he wondered if this narrow bed would be too small for them. Neal reached back and pulled his arm around him and settled against into sleep. The were like two spoons in a drawer and Peter decided that the single bed wasn’t too small at all. For him and Neal, it was the perfect size.

__

FIN


End file.
